5 assumptions that they all got wrong
by obeytherandomness
Summary: and the one assumption that they didn't. I've been seeing a lot of people write these, so I decided to give it a try. I hope you guys like it. This is Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
1. eating habits

Before you guys read this, I do want to mention that I am not in anyway British, so I probably won't get all of the British sayings right. I'm sorry about this, but I will try my best.

Also, I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters.

P.S. For those of you who have already read this story and got a message saying that I changed this chapter, I just wanted to let you know that the only thing that I have changed is the last paragraph. This is because I got a critique saying that the previous last paragraph didn't really fit in and I agreed with this person and decided to change it. If you liked the previous last paragraph better than this one, please let me know and, if I get enough people asking for the original, I will change it back. If I don't get anyone asking to change it back, I will go through the other 5 chapters and fix their last paragraphs as well. Thank you for taking the time to read this note.

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Ever since the whole of Scotland Yard can remember, they have never seen Sherlock eat. The offer had been given, on more than one occasion, that Sherlock should join someone or another for dinner after work. Sherlock, of course, always refused. He always mentioned how he didn't have time to eat because he was solving a case and that they should at least try to do the same. Usually he would add in some remark about how they weren't nearly as good at there job as he thought they should be, but then he would just leave without any proper words of gratitude to any of the prospective people that asked him. Soon, it became a common assumption that Sherlock did not eat nearly as much as he should have and that he could sometimes go weeks with only scraps of food here and there. It became one of Lestrade's own goals to get the man to eat more. Usually he was unsuccessful. That is, until Dr. John Watson came into the picture.

Sherlock's eating habits were scarce at best because he was often jumping from place to place without any thought of whether or not he should stop and regather his strength. When Dr. John Watson entered his flat, and then his whole life, he had not thought to even attempt to change his habits. Unfortunately, John, who was not used to this life style, soon began to show signs of hunger. He never said anything to Sherlock so Sherlock never felt the need to notice it, but the others at Scotlan Yard had noticed very quickly. it was on a day like any other, with Sherlock explaining another one of the crime scenes to Dective Inspector Lestrade, that the people of Scotland Yard, mainly Lestrade and Sally Donovan, tried to remedy this.

John was hanging back and waiting to leave whenever Sherlock was ready, he had learned to be ready to move at any moment because Sherlock hated waiting, when Sally approached him with a sandwich wrapped in paper. It was obviously from a deli nearby, so John accepted it gratefully. They were not in the crime scene, having left as soon as Sherlock had gotten all of the information that he needed, and were now standing just outside of the building that the crime had occurred in, so John felt that it was okay that he eat the offered food. He slipped the paper open to reveal a portion of the sandwich and took one small bite.

"Sherlock," John said. He was probably interrupting whatever Sherlock was saying, but by the look in Sherlock's eyes he could tell that the man was actually just repeating himself for the benefit of Anderson, who had walked over to try to critique Sherlock's flawless work once again.

"What?" Sherlock asked as he whirled around to face him with a look of frustration that was clearly not aimed at him.

"You need to eat more," John said as he held the sandwich out to Sherlock.

Normally Sherlock would have shouted a protest at the fact that he did not need to eat more and that he never ate during cases, but, this time, he took the offered food from John with a silent harrumph before turning back to Anderson to give one last snarky remark and biting into the sandwich that was meant to be John's.

Everyone at the crime scene had been shocked to see Sherlock actually eating something, especially Lestrade, but Sherlock didn't care because the only thing he noticed was the grateful look in John's eye when he had taken the sandwich without any complaint. Normally, as mentioned before, Sherlock never would have taken the food, but he had seen something in John that no one had seen before. He deduced what John apparently considered to be a weakness that he didn't want to divulge to all of Scotland Yard. It was understandable, since it probably became a huge hindrance to him while he was in Afghanistan. Dr. John Watson was a _very_ picky eater.

Later, when the case was solved and they were back in the calm and relative solitude of their own flat, John explained to him that it wasn't just that he was a picky eater. He didn't deny that he was a _very _picky eater, as Sherlock had corrected him when he had missed the _very_ the first time, but he did tell Sherlock that he also had a sensitive pallet. This meant that things such as pepper, carbonation, and mint actually felt like they were burning his mouth. He also explained to Sherlock that he had a very small lactose intolerance so he tried to avoid eating too many dairy products, "but," he said emphatically, "I still drink my tea with milk because I don't like soy milk." He didn't have to add in this extra piece because Sherlock would not touch his tea because Sherlock never mad the tea. Nor did he ever do the grocery shopping, so there was little chance that he would buy soy milk himself. But he felt he had to add this part in just in case.

Sherlock had nodded understandingly throughout the whole of the conversation before he received a text that spoke of yet another murder that they were needed to investigate.

From then on, the people of Scotland Yard kept trying to offer any sort of food to John who would usually take one bite before sighing and offering it to Sherlock. At first, John had to physically tell Sherlock that he needed to eat more for Sherlock to take the food from him, but soon Sherlock could tell just by the way the man chewed his food when he was going to give the food to Sherlock. Soon, the only thing that John had to do was take that first small bite before Sherlock would hold his hand out to take the food from him.

At first, the rest of Scotland yard were so shocked that Sherlock was actually eating that they said nothing about him taking John's food, but soon, not as fast as it took Sherlock to be able to determine everything about John's eating habits, Lestrade said something about it.

"It's good that you're eating Sherlock," Lestrade said as Sherlock bit down on the sandwich that John had just given him at yet another one of their crime scenes, "but don't you think you should get your own food, instead of stealing John's"

"John ate this morning," Sherlock replied before John could even attempt to find the words to describe what Sherlock was doing for him. "He's not hungry."

Lestrade sighed as he looked at John. John had lost some weight, but that could just be from the fact that he was always chasing after Sherlock, and he seemed somewhat tired, but again that could just be from chasing Sherlock, so he couldn't find any discernable clue to let him know whether or not John was hungry. "I'm going to eat at a restaurant close by," he said finally, "and you two are coming with me."

"I'm eating something right now," Sherlock protested, "and I have to tell you about this case."

"That's right," Lestrade nodded. "That's why you're coming with me. Because I'm hungry and I want to eat and you need to tell me about the crime scene."

"I don't have to," Sherlock protested. "I can just find the criminal on my own. This case has practically already been solved."

"Sherlock," Lestrade warned as he turned to walk away. Both John and Sherlock knew that tone of voice. If they didn't go with him now, Lestrade would do yet another one of his infamous drug busts. They were still cleaning up from the last one and they didn't need another one, so they followed him to a small Thai restaurant nearby.

John grimaced as they walked into the shop. He did not like Thai. At all. But he didn't say anything and the three of them were escorted to a booth with a nice view of the outside. They were given three menus, one of which John took and held in front of his face as he scanned over the menu for something that he might like while hiding his disgusted face from Lestrade who sat across from him. Sherlock sat on his right and scanned the menu as well, before finding the perfect meal and putting it back down on the table.

When the waiter came, Lestrade ordered his meal and then turned to the other two, expecting them to order for themselves, only to have Sherlock immediately order what John would want and than wave the girl off before he or John could say anything. "What about you?" Lestrade asked.

"I just ate," Sherlock reminded him. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to actually do my job instead of sitting here idly chitchatting."

It didn't take long for Sherlock to explain who the killer was and how he came up with this idea, the food hadn't even come yet by the time he finished with a satisfied smirk on his lips, but they were still forced to stay until John had a bite to eat.

"That's _boring_," Sherlock complained loudly as he slumped in his chair.

"I'll just take my food to go," John said apologetically.

"Oh no you don't," Lestrade said immediately. "I'm not letting you leave until you eat something."

John sighed and Sherlock pouted, but they waited for the food to come nonetheless. When John's meal was placed in front of him, he was shocked to find that, though there were a lot of things that he didn't like in the meal, everything that he didn't like was either easy to avoid or easy to pick out. Sherlock immediately sat up, without a word, and began picking the food out of John's meal. This was why Sherlock sat next to John anyway. It had become a habit that, even when it was just the two of them, Sherlock would sit beside John so that he could steal the food from his plate because John never wanted to be rude and ask the waiters to change the order just for him.

"I thought you said you just ate," Lestrade said with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock just shrugged and continued to eat with his perpetually bored expression glued to his face while John and Lestrade talked about unimportant things.

"John," Sherlock said, suddenly interrupting John mid-word. John looked at him curiously, but Sherlock just grabbed the fork from John's hand and at the bite that was about to enter John's mouth. John raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He knew that Sherlock probably noticed something that he hadn't while he was being distracted by Lestrade's small talk.

When they were finally allowed to leave, John's plate was empty. Most of the food had gone into Sherlock's mouth, but Lestrade didn't notice. They were allowed to leave with Lestrade looking after them with a proud look on his face. He thought that he had finally been successful in getting the two of them to eat.

From that moment on, Sherlock actually ate more than John did and he actually had to take care of John's eating habits so that he didn't starve because the Yard was wrong about it's assumption that Sherlock never ate and John didn't eat as much because he was stuck with Sherlock. The truth is that John barely eats anything because he is _very _picky, and Sherlock is the one who has to make absolutely certain that whatever John does eat would agree with his _very_ picky appetite. If that meant he ate more than he used to than so be it.

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Thanks for reading guys. I wanted to mention, also, that the sensitive pallet that John has in my story (he does not have this in the actual Sherlock series) is actually possible. I pretty much explained all of my eating habits in John (I am just not as stubborn as John in asking people to change my order to my liking).

I have a lot of different stories that I feel have been neglected for a while so I've decided to just post them all. I hope you guys like this one.

If you have any sort of requests that you would like to see me do, please send me a pm or a comment and I will try my best to do them.

I do have the next chapter for this story, but I don't want to post a whole lot of things all at once, so I will post the next chapter in a week or when I get five votes.


	2. sleeping habits

This is the revised version of the second chapter. I went to change the last paragraph to something that would flow better and it wound up turning into three paragraphs. I hope you enjoy it.

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Sherlock never sleeps. At least that's what everyone in Scotland Yard always assumed. They could go to Sherlock's flat at any time to find him doing some sort of experiment or playing some loud tune on his violin, or just lying on the couch complaining about how utterly bored he was. They only found him sleeping in his room once when they came over and it took them a full hour to wake him from his deep slumber. Sherlock had not been happy about that. He complained loudly about how he must always be ready whenever someone attacks and sleep got in the way of that. He endeavored never to fall asleep again, and, in the eyes of Scotland Yard, he succeeded.

However, once John moved into the flat, he found himself sleeping much more often. John always found some way to make him fall asleep. Whether it was by giving him warm milk and sending him off to his room where the only place to sit was on his very comfortable bed, or just by talking to him. John had a way with words, that Sherlock assumed he had learned during the war, that could put any man no matter how high on alert they were to sleep. What did surprise Sherlock, though, was the fact that his sleeps were a lot less deep. He found himself very able to wake at the smallest of sounds, and he also found that it was a lot easier to make deductions when his brain wasn't fighting off sleep. That's why he allowed John to put him asleep on most nights of the week with little to no resistance. It also had something to do with the fact that John had the uncanny ability to know when not to use his abilities to put Sherlock asleep and just sit in his seat waiting for Sherlock to do whatever he had to get done in that moment.

John was different though. John could fall asleep on his own, but his mind always worked against him. It happened on more than one occasion, that Sherlock was woken by John's shouting. He never mentioned it to John because he knew that John considered it as his worst and most embarrassing weakness. Sometimes Sherlock wondered why John thought he had so many weaknesses, but he chose to ignore it for the benefit of other cases that were much more important.

Other times Sherlock would be woken from his slumber to hear John slip out the door to head off to another one of his impromptu outings. Sherlock also chose to ignore these and went back to sleep. John didn't want him to be concerned about him, so he wouldn't.

It was on a day where Sherlock was sitting on the couch, feeling _very _bored, and John had just gotten home from one of his late night outings when the problem of John's sleeping habits had come up.

"How was your shift?" Sherlock asked curiously. Normally he wouldn't care about menial things such as caring for a flat mates time at a work, but John was different.

"I have another shift tomorrow afternoon," John sighed as he allowed his workbag to collapse to the floor so that he could head up to his room without the extra weight. Sherlock frowned at this. It was usual for John to get random shifts because he was only a doctor who filled in for the ones who took time off, but he had just been working too much lately. Sometimes he was even forced to work two shifts back to back. He took the job so that he could earn some small amount of money when they weren't working on cases, but for some reason it seemed that someone, Sherlock already knew it was probably Sarah because John had broken up with her and she was still trying everything that she could do to flirt with him, was making John stay longer at work when it was clearly unnecessary. Sherlock even had the sneaking suspicion that there were no doctors out at the moment and that John was just being an extra set of hands that the hospital probably didn't need. John had also probably noticed this for himself, but he had already said that he needed the money and that there was no way anyone else would hire him with his weird schedule. "I think I'm just going to go sleep for a while, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Sherlock nodded as he dug out his favorite violin. And rested it against his shoulder. John eyed the instrument, but it wasn't suspiciously. Instead, his look held a tired form of happiness.

"Right then," John yawned, "I'll just be upstairs."

Sherlock made no move to acknowledge his words, but John knew that he heard. Instead, Sherlock just placed his bow in position, waited until he heard the bed springs in the upstairs room creak from John's exhausted body lying on top of them, and began to play a soothing melody. It was John's favorite, and it often warded off any nightmares so that John would be able to get some small amount of sleep.

It was almost an hour later when Sherlock heard the door open. He quickly placed his violin back in its case and moved it to the side so that it wouldn't get stepped on if he should have to fight with the newcomers. He didn't think he would, at least not physically, because he already deduced that the two people that were now coming up the stairs were Lestrade and Donovan.

Sherlock quickly looked at the time, it was one o'clock, before going to the door and waiting for the two detectives to reach it. At one time, before he met John he wouldn't have cared to answer the door so quickly, but he knew that Sally loved to try to catch him off guard, which she never did, by pounding on the door as loudly as she could. He didn't want Sally's childish behavior to wake the sleep-deprived man upstairs. Especially since he knew that loud sounds like that when John was so tired often triggered his PTSD.

Sherlock ripped the door open when he heard them step up the last step only to find Sally Donovan readying herself to pound on his door. She scowled and lowered her hand. She was so hoping to catch him off guard this time.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked. He wanted another case, he hadn't gotten one in ages, but he didn't want to have to wake John up so soon after he had finally gone to sleep.

"There's a body," Lestrade sighs as he rubs his head. Apparently he hasn't been getting much sleep either, Sherlock realizes. By the stiffness in his writing hand and the little amount of dried ink on the other, Sherlock realized that it must be because of paperwork. Sally Donovan, on the other hand, had a totally different reason for being grumpy and tired. If her scraped hands and knees are any indication, Anderson's wife has gone out of town again.

Sherlock sighed, but allowed the two of them to enter his flat as he went to the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" Sally said mockingly. "Too tired."

"I'm never tired," Sherlock snorted as he put the kettle onto the heat.

"Yea right," Sally said. She would never let him live down that one moment where he had been so exhausted that he couldn't even wake up.

"Sally," Lestrade warned before turning back to Sherlock. "What are you doing? We have to go to the scene. Anderson's waiting for us."

"He can wait a little longer," Sherlock answered.

"Sherlock it's raining," Lestrade growled. "All of our evidence is being washed away. We don't have time to wait any longer."

"Fine," Sherlock sighed. He turned with a flourish and opened the door to the stairs that led to John's room.

"What are you doing?" Sally yelled up to him as he stalked up the stairs as quietly as his feet would take him, which was actually very quietly.

Sherlock ignored Sally and opened John's door as quietly as he could. "John," he whispered into the room. "John, it's time to get up."

"How long have I slept?" John mumbled after a moment as he rubbed some of the looming sleep out of his eyes.

"You've been asleep for almost an hour," Sherlock responded.

"I'll be right down," John said as he slowly rolled out of his bed.

Sherlock closed the door in order to give John some privacy and went back down to prepare some tea in a to go cup.

"Sherlock let's go," Lestrade said impatiently.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the door to the stairs opening once again to reveal John. He looked totally put together except for the big bags under his eyes.

"Are you okay John?" Lestrade asked worriedly. "Maybe you should stay home today."

"No," John shook his head tiredly.

"Come on John," Sherlock said loudly as he rushed down the stairs with the cup of tea in his hand. "The game is a foot."

"Yea yea," John answered. "Let's go then."

"You can't," Lestrade said. "You are too tired. You should just stay home this time."

"Yea," Sally agreed. "You can't always be following after the freak. You're going to drop dead from sleep deprivation one of these days with him not letting you sleep."

"It's not his fault," John said before following Sherlock down the stairs and into a cab. Once the cab had pulled out, Sherlock handed the cup of tea to John and took out his phone to find out where exactly they were supposed to be going.

The crime scene was barely a ten-minute drive, but John took that time to get in a few extra moments of sleep even with the warm cup of tea held firmly in his hand. Sherlock woke him up as they were pulling up to the crime scene and pushed the cup closer to John's face claiming that he was no good to him half asleep. John nodded, took a sip of the tea, and slipped out of the cab as Sherlock paid the cab fare.

"Come along John," Sherlock called with the bottom of his coat flaring out from behind him.

"I'm coming," John muttered, but then his phone rang. "Give me a moment," he called out. Sherlock continued as though he hadn't heard anything, but John knew that he had.

"Hello?" John answered the phone.

"Hello John," Sara said through the connection. "Unfortunately, we're going to need you to work the evening shift as well. I'm really sorry about making you work two shifts again, but we need the hands. Make sure you get some extra sleep. I don't want you falling asleep during your shift again."

"I can't Sara," John sighed.

"Why not?" Sara asked.

"I'm on a case with Sherlock," he answered.

"We need you here John," Sara tried to say.

"I can't," John said again. "Sherlock needs me for this case. Besides, I'm sure you can find someone to take my place."

"It's always about Sherlock," Sara cried angrily. "One of these days you're going to lose your job because your too hell bent on working with Sherlock."

"Sara," John said sternly. "We made a deal in which I would work the extra shifts when I didn't have a case and you would leave me alone when I did. You have other doctors. Use them." John hung up before Sara could say anything more only to turn around and be face to face with Sally.

"Girlfriend troubles?" she smirked.

"I've already broken up with her," John rubbed his eyes again before pressing past her so that they could go and see if Sherlock needed his help.

"First he makes you unable to sleep and now he ruins your love life," Sally complained as she trailed after him. "I told you that the freak was bad news. You need to get away from him before he kills you."

"I already told you that it's not Sherlock's fault," John growled.

"John!" Sherlock turned to him as he slipped under the crime scene tape. "What do you think about this?" He pointed to the dead body and, with no hesitation, John crouched down next to it and checked for anything strange.

The case wound up being a relatively easy one. Sherlock said that it was a small group of kids who didn't actually know what they were doing when they beat him. Sherlock then proceeded to explain that they would probably be at the park nearby, high, and laughing there heads off. They were there and they were all arrested for involuntary manslaughter.

The case was a relatively easy one, but Sally kept bother John the whole time about the fact that he needed to leave Sherlock, or the freak as she kept referring to him, before he dropped dead. John ignored her up until the point where the kids were arrested. Then he turned to her with an exasperated sigh and stated that he would very much like to go home and get some rest if she would let him. She stuttered, but couldn't say anything before John was slipping into the cab that Sherlock called out to.

When they got home, John pulled out his phone to call Sara and tell her that the case was over and that he would be able to work the double shift that she asked of him, but Sherlock quickly slipped it out of his hand before he could even press one number. Sherlock turned the thing off and quickly hid it in his own jacket pocket before John could even complain. Then he pushed John towards the stairs and saying something about how he needed some time to think without John's presence to distract him. John took this excuse, knowing it was fake, and went upstairs to collapse on his bed once more. It didn't take long for the musical notes of a lullaby played on the violin to drift up to John's ears, and not long after that for him to fall asleep to them.

From that day on Sherlock played his violin a lot more than he used to. He made sure that he always took John's phone before the man went up to his room and then he would make sure that the violin was almost immediately on his shoulder as John fell into bed. He even took a call from Sara and told her off about how much she was making John work and how dangerous that is to his health. She of course shot back that it was partially his fault for calling John out at all hours of the day and that if John didn't live with Sherlock he would be able to live a normal life with her. Sherlock scoffed at that and hung up on her.

John started getting more sleep, though still not as much as he probably should get, and Sherlock continued to get the same amount of sleep that John made him get and the two of them were finally well rested.

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this is the second chapter. i hope you all enjoyed it. i have the next chapter written and i'll post it next saturday unless i get 5 comments before then


	3. sociopathic tendencies

Sorry guys. I meant to post this on Saturday just like I promised, but the weekend wound up being too busy and I was unable to get the chance to do so. So here it is.

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No one really knew how the name-calling actually started, though many suspected that Sargent Sally Donovan was the one to blame, but once it had started it didn't stop. It actually spread, like wildfire, to the rest of the precinct until practically everyone was calling him some undesired name or another. The only name that Sherlock ever sneered at, ever showed any emotion towards, was 'psychopath'. He would immediately scowl at whoever said the word and correct them with "high-functioning sociopath you idiot," or some other insulting form of the statement. His words creating the blooming assumption that Sherlock didn't care about what they said to him. The words slowly got worse and more frequent, because everyone was using Sherlock to help them release the frustrations of their jobs. They believed that Sherlock didn't care so why should they?

This assumption didn't change when John entered the picture. Some people spoke the words quieter and less frequent, but some didn't take the time to care. Some, including both Sally and Anderson, were even brave enough to say the words to John's face. John would stand with a neutral face and listen to them complain about something or other that Sherlock had done while throwing as many insults in as they could possibly get. It was in his nature to stand quietly and listen to people's complaints without being biased towards either party. Being a doctor in the army meant more than just healing people's physical wounds. He was also the one that people always went to to complain. There were usually several insults thrown into their complaints as well, but John always knew that they never meant them. They were just venting. That was no the case for the people of Scotland Yard. They meant their insults and that angered John more than anything else.

Is was on one of the days when John had barely gotten any sleep and Sally was bothering him once again with her words that John finally snapped.

"Sally?" he said as he looked around. There was no sign of Sherlock. He and Lestrade must still be upstairs in the crime scene. Everyone else, except for John, had been kicked out because they wouldn't work with Sherlock. John had retreated from the crime scene as soon as he told Sherlock about the body because he was too tired to deal with Sherlock's observations in quick succession, Sherlock would explain them to him later when he was more awake, only to be bombarded by all of the people at the crime scenes complaints.

"Yes John?" she asked curiously. He had never before interrupted her unless it was time to leave.

"I was just wondering," he said loud enough to hear, "why so many people of Scotland Yard feels that it is okay for them to attempt to commit murder."

"What?" Sally practically screeched. She didn't know what he was talking about, but something told her that it wasn't going to be good.

"I was just wondering," he repeated, "why you all think that it's okay to attempt to commit murder."

"That's not funny John," Sally growled. Everyone in the room was watching them now, most of them glaring at John, and Sally wasn't going to let anyone disrespect her people. "You know that we have to defend ourselves when we're on a case."

"I'm not talking about that," John shook his head. "God knows I know enough about killing people to protect king and country and, even, myself and friends."

Sally bit her lip. She had forgotten about his service and how it must affect him. She had once been told that he had probably killed at least ten times as many people as she had and saved around the same amount. But, if he wasn't talking about that, then what was he talking about?

"I understand that," John continued. "What I don't understand is why you people all think that it is okay to continually try to murder Sherlock."

"Sherlock?!" Sally burst out laughing along with Anderson who had walked over to support her, but nobody else did. Everyone else in the unit knew that this had to be about something more. "I don't know what he's told you," Sally continued, "but we've never once tried to hurt or kill the Freak."

John sighed before fixing Sally and Anderson with one of his deadliest glares. He only reserved this glare for the enemy when he was out in the field, but he felt that right now they deserved it. Sally and Anderson shut up immediately. "I don't know about you," John said when the whole room became quietly again, "but I find that those who try to force people to commit suicide by making fun of them everyday are just as bad as those who do it by hand. They're actually worse because they can't be caught by law."

"That's not," Sally tried to say. "We aren't trying to kill him."

John gave an exasperated sigh and looked up at the roof before turning his hardened gave back to the group of people who were now listening to him intently. "Neither was the boy who was just playing with a gun that he found when it went off and killed his best friend, or the homeless man who just wanted some cash for food and accidently beat another to death for it, or the woman who got in a fight with her husband and accidently pushed him down the stairs, or the man who cheated on his wife so much that she felt it was all hopeless and she hanged herself, or the bullies in a school who made fun of that one child so much that he cut himself and bled to death, or that group of people who were so jealous of a man who was smarter than them that they continued to put him down until he turned to drugs and accidently overdosed."

"The Freak doesn't care," Sally continued. She knew John was right, but she didn't want to be wrong because that would mean that she had been a horrible person for several years and hadn't even notice. "He's a sociopath."

"Do you have any proof?" John asked.

"What?" Sally asked.

"Do you have any proof that Sherlock is a sociopath?" John clarified.

"He told us himself," Sally said. "He said that he heard from a reliable source that he didn't have a heart."

"Tell me Sally," John said. "Would you consider yourself a reliable source?"

"Yes?" Sally said.

"And you Anderson?" John turned to the man who came to support Sally but had yet to say a word.

"Yes," he answered cautiously.

"What about the rest of you?" John turned to the rest of the group and proved to everyone that he was, in fact, talking to the whole group and not just Sally.

"Yes," came the mumbled replies. They were catching on much faster than Sally was and they already had somewhat upset faces on.

"And what about Lestrade?" John turned back to Sally. "Would you consider Lestrade to be reliable?"

"Of course," Sally said immediately.

"Good," John nodded, "because I have seen all of you, including Lestrade, claim that Sherlock doesn't have a heart in some way or another. So, I ask you again, what proof do you have?"

"We don't," Sally finally realized that she was losing, but she would not let go. Not quite yet. "He makes fun of us all the time."

"Do you know what the frailty of genius is?" John asked.

"No?" Sally responded cautiously. She knew that she was going to be proved wrong once again so she said nothing more.

"Sherlock would say that the frailty of genius is the desire for attention," John smiled at the memories of Sherlock saying just that, "but the true frailty of genius is being socially unaware. Most geniuses, if not all geniuses, have a hard time interacting with common folk. Sherlock is not exempt from this rule. He calls us idiots because he doesn't know any better. He was taught to act that way from an early age and now he has been proven that his actions are correct because you people continue to make fun of him. He stopped calling me an idiot, except during the rush of the moment, because he figured out that I find it insulting. The only reason that geniuses want an audience is because they know no other way to get attention. Just because he doesn't know any better, that doesn't mean that gives you the right to make fun of him because you do know better."

Sally looked away. She was officially wrong and she knew it. Everything that John had said was correct and now she knew that what she and the rest of Scotland Yard had done was wrong.

"Look," John sighed again, "I am happy to listen to all of your complaints, about Sherlock or otherwise, but I'm tired of listening to you guys continue to make fun of him."

"John!" Sherlock called from the top of the stairs as he ran down to meet him. "The game is afoot!" With that Sherlock was running out of the house and John was following him without another look at the people that he had just told off.

A couple days later the same man struck again and Sherlock was called to the scene again. When they arrived Sally lifted the caution tape without a word and Sherlock was so surprised that he didn't even mention the fact that Anderson's wife was out of town again. John just nodded to her and continued inside the house where the body was found. As soon as they arrived, Sherlock demanded to have the crime scene to himself and the whole team, except for Lestrade, left without saying a word.

"What did you do?" Lestrade quietly asked John as the two of them stood off to the side and waited for Sherlock to complete his observations.

John just shrugged and said, "Something that you should have done a long time ago."

Lestrade stiffened, but didn't have time to say anything more because Sherlock had spun towards them and was now talking as fast as he could and Lestrade had to use all his concentration just to keep up. He did, however, find out what John had said to his team soon after and he was livid. He went straight to the flat to face John.

"Sherlock's not here," John said even as he let Lestrade into the flat. "Would you like some tea?" He closed the door and turned to face Lestrade only to have the man's fist collide with his face and then his stomach. John bent over and coughed.

"You accused my people of attempted murder," growled Lestrade.

"I did," John said as he stood as though he had never been hit, but the bruise was already forming under his left eye. He slipped past Lestrade and entered the living room with Lestrade following him. "And I could accuse you of aiding and abetting."

"How dare you," Lestrade growled again. He advanced forward and struck John once again in the face as the door opened to reveal Sherlock.

"John!" Sherlock gasped. He rushed forward, pushing Lestrade to the side, and touched John's cheek. John didn't even wince.

"I'm fine Sherlock," John sighed, but he knew that Sherlock had probably already examined him and figured out that Lestrade had punched him three times.

"Why did you hit him?" Sherlock growled. He would have advanced forward to send his own fist at Lestrade, but John held him back.

"He accused my men of being murderers," Lestrade answered.

"You think one of them did it?" Sherlock asked John. "You are greatly mistaken. I thought that your observation skills were starting to improve."

"I don't think that any of them killed anyone Sherlock," John sighed.

"Well then, why did you let Lestrade hit you three times?" Sherlock asked. "Because there is no way he would have gotten in any of these punches if you didn't know they were coming."

"How do you know?" Lestrade asked. He liked to think that he was pretty good at fighting and that he could take on anybody, whether criminal or not.

"John is a soldier," Sherlock pointed out easily. "A very good soldier. Even if you had caught him off guard, his reflexes would have kicked in and he would have protected himself. The only way his reflexes wouldn't have kicked in is if he knew the attack was coming and chose not to defend himself."

"Sherlock," John said. "It's fine. It doesn't matter. Lestrade was just leaving anyway."

"It does matter," Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted. It was only the gesture that often spoke of unconscious defense that made Lestrade conscious of the fact that Sherlock was now between him and John, practically hiding John from view. "I want to know what this is about." He glared at Lestrade for only a moment longer. Then everything clicked in his head and he turned to John with a silent "Oh."

John sighed again. He was hoping that Sherlock wouldn't find out about his actions, be, he supposed, that was too much to ask for when you're living with the world's best detective.

"You know they don't affect me that much," Sherlock frowned.

"But they affect you," John pointed out, "and that's all that matters."

By this point Lestrade's anger had dissipated and he realized that John had only been acting in the best interest of his friends. He had defended Sherlock to the whole of his team and then had chosen not to defend himself so that he wouldn't hurt the man that was attacking him. "I'll just be going now," he muttered. He would apologize to John later and John would explain exactly why he said everything that he said to him and his team, but, right then, Sherlock looked like he wanted some time alone with John. Neither of them even turned to face him as he slipped through the door. The one thing that only hit Lestrade after he left the building and was halfway home, was that Sherlock looked genuinely angry with him for hurting John. Perhaps John was right. Perhaps Sherlock really did have a heart.

It took the Yard a little while after that to go to John when they wanted to complain about people, but they soon found themselves doing it without even knowing and John just smiling and sometimes giving them his words of wisdom. Words that he had learned during the war in order to get along with all of the peers and they always helped. Other times John said nothing and just listened to what they said. It took even longer for them to go to John when complaining about Sherlock, but they did that too. The only difference was that their words were always spawned from frustration with the man instead of just because they wanted to make fun of him. They would never make the mistake of hurting one of John's friends ever again.

* * *

I'm sorry again for the late update.

Unfortunately this is my last prewritten chapter. I'll update the next three as soon as I write them.

Thank you for reading.

P.S. I know that Sherlock said that he had been reliably informed that he didn't have a heart when it was just John, Moriarty, and him, but I figured that if he said it there he probably said it at some other points as well so that's how Sally knows about it.


	4. crime solving

It didn't take long for the people in Scotland Yard to realize that Sherlock never stopped to wait for them during their investigations. Sherlock didn't care whether or not the Yard kept up with him as long as he could finish the game. The Yard was even forced to have fake drugs busts just so that they could get evidence that Sherlock either found or stole. Sherlock didn't really care much. He was an untidy person anyway so the drugs busts didn't really mess up his home. Besides, he could always have Mrs. Hudson clean up afterwards. He had to go and catch the suspect anyway. The Yard was just getting in his way.

When John entered his life, there was no changing of the Yard's assumption about his lack of care for anything but the case. In fact, their assumptions were actually strengthened by the explosion at the pool. They were all angry at Sherlock for daring to blow up the explosions just so that he could kill Moriarty when John was right there in the room with the both of them. They wouldn't have much cared if Sherlock was only putting his own life in danger, but he also put the good Doctor in danger.

Of course, they weren't actually there at the moment that Sherlock pulled the trigger. They weren't there when John practically told Sherlock that he should pull the trigger. They weren't there when Sherlock had lost all thought about everything that was going on when it was John who greeted him with Moriarty's voice. They weren't there when Sherlock thought to himself that, if John really was Moriarty, then he would never catch the mad man because he would never do that to John. They weren't there, but John was.

John knew that these assumptions were completely false. In fact, he was absolutely certain that if anyone but Sherlock was put into any sort of danger by Sherlock's actions and Sherlock didn't think that he could protect them, he would turn away from the case immediately. It had never happened before, but there had been times, John knew, that Sherlock almost gave up in order to save him. Those were the times that John stepped up and showed all of his army colors. Those were the times that John killed and almost killed the criminals that they were chasing.

But the Yard didn't know any of this. They only thought that Sherlock would solve a case no matter what the cost. They would be proven wrong one rainy night when Sherlock was working on a case of people being kidnapped and forced to fight each other until one of them died. It was only recently that Sherlock realized that the people who were being kidnapped were part of the military and that was only because John had gone missing too. The Yard didn't know that yet though.

"Where's John?" Sally asked cautiously as they examined the latest victim. John had made sure that she stopped calling Sherlock names, but that didn't mean that she disliked him any less. She was just a little bit more civil.

"Was he just too slow for you?" Anderson said with a cocky smirk. "Did you decide that you didn't want to have to deal with him anymore. Saw that one coming. No one can keep up with the intellect of the great Sherlock Holmes."

"Shut up Anderson," Sherlock growled back tensely. "You lower the IQ of the whole city whenever you talk." It was an insult that he hadn't used in a long time, but he didn't have time to deal with either of the people from the Yard. He had a beloved doctor to save. "That's it!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"What's it?" Lestrade asked.

"They made a mistake!" Sherlock was on his feet and was jumping up and down as he explained this.

"What mistake?" Lestrade asked. "I don't see any mistake."

"They let John get ahold of the body before they dropped it here," Sherlock had a big grin on his face. "John gave me enough evidence to find out where their hide out is!"

"What do you mean John did?" Lestrade asked slowly. "Damnit Sherlock! Did you send John to get kidnapped so that you could have a man undercover?"

"Of course not!" Sherlock growled. "I would never do that to John. They captured him on their own and now if you don't mind I would like to rescue him."

Sally and Anderson shared a look of regret as they realized that they had been chastising Sherlock for not having John around when it was only because John was in danger, but they said nothing more.

"Alright then," Lestrade was now much more anxious to catch the culprit and save his friend from these bastards. "Where are we going?"

Sherlock was already heading towards Lestrade's police car, the one that he refused to ride in on any other case, as he explained where John was and just what the police were going to do to get John out of there.

It didn't take long for them to reach the location. The body didn't float too far away from the actual hide out when it was fished out of the river.

Before they could enter the building, however, a man came out with a gun pointed at one of his hostage's heads. To be exact, at John's head. Sherlock took the moment to examine John and cringed at what he saw. John wasn't very bad off. He might have been beaten slightly to gain his compliance, but it didn't look like he had been forced to participate in the fights to the death yet. The thing that worried Sherlock, though, was that John had wide eyes that were skipping from place to place in obvious distress. His left hand was shaking and his limp was very prominent, so much so that the captor practically had to hold all of his weight. Conclusion: John was suffering from his PTSD. Something must have happened inside that building to trigger memories of the war.

John suffering from PTSD was never good. There were two things that happened when people fell into a form of PTSD. The person either froze in fear or they lashed out in battle. John was the type that froze in fear, but not the normal fear of being hurt in battle once more. John's mind always remembered that the people around him were innocents so whenever he suffered from PTSD he froze in fear of hurting them. John never wanted to hurt innocents no matter what the reason was. Unfortunately, that made it practically impossible for Sherlock to signal for him to somehow escape in some sort of plan.

"Don't come any closer," the captor growled. He was military as well, Sherlock realized. He was wounded in the war and then left behind only to be captured and tortured. He lost his left leg during the torture and his right arm was barely mobile due to the shot. But why was he attacking soldiers? Oh, Sherlock realized as he looked a little closer, the shot was part of friendly fire. All of his suffering was caused by a misfired bullet from his own side. "I am not going to jail."

Sherlock put his hands up slowly. "I'll let you go," he said calmly. Much more calmly than he felt.

"What are you saying Sherlock?" Lestrade growled from next to him where his gun was lowered and ready to raise at any moment.

"No you won't," the man hissed. "The police never stick to that."

"Well I'm not the police," Sherlock said as though he had been insulted. "I'll let you go and I'll stop chasing after you as long as you let John go."

"I'm not stupid," said the man. "Even if you let me go, there is no way they are going to."

"Lestrade," Sherlock said. "Leave."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade was not willing to leave a criminal like this out in the open.

"I am not going to let this man hurt John anymore," Sherlock hissed, "and if that means that we must let him go than I am okay with that."

"You know that John wouldn't be okay with that," Lestrade tried to reason with him. "He doesn't want more of his men to be killed."

"I don't care about them," Sherlock said. "I just want John to be safe." It was the most honest thing that Lestrade had ever heard Sherlock say, but Lestrade couldn't allow this to happen. He had to catch the criminal. That was his job.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," Lestrade shook his head. "I can't do that."

"Fine," Sherlock turned back to the captor. "If you take me inside and promise that you will let John go, I will help you find a way to escape. I'll even walk with you until you are out of the city and out of the reach of these policemen." He walked forward slowly and the captor walked backwards dragging John back into the darkness of the building behind them.

"There," Sherlock said as he closed the door behind him. "Now give John to me."

"I told you that I'm not stupid," the man said. "I'm not letting him go until I have escaped. Only then will I let your precious John go."

"Fine," Sherlock said tensely. He walked forward, past the man and farther into the building. There were several rooms with doors that were locked, probably holding the screaming prisoners in them. One door a little ways down was slightly ajar, probably the one the John was in, and Sherlock took a moment to look inside. It was hardly big enough for a coat closet and they had shoved Watson in there. That reminded Sherlock, though, there was no way that this man was doing all of this alone. "Where is your partner?" Sherlock asked as he looked around.

"One of our prisoners escaped this morning," the man mumbled from behind him. "Killed my partner before I was able to shoot him down. Poor little John was standing right there as it all happened. Got a bit of blood on him from it. The soldier was still bleeding and Doctor John tried to help. I let him get through all that he could do. I even provided him with the supplies to get it done. I wanted to test his skills. Then I shot the guy in the head, but that is what happens during a war."

"A war?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't going to think about how that would trigger the memories of John's time in the enemy hands when the enemy had him heal the other prisoners only to torture them some more. That was John's worst memories and usually what his PTSD was about.

"Of course," the man growled. "This country is corrupt and I'm putting together an army that will be able to take over. I'll make it better. I'll make everything better."

"And you think that John will have anything to do with that?" Sherlock almost laughed. He would have if the situation was any different, but he was willing to take that chance.

"He doesn't have much of a choice," the man laughed. "He's the first army doctor that I've been able to get my hands on. I need him. Don't worry though. I'll make sure to toughen him up before I send him out there. I don't want anyone in my army who is so weak."

Sherlock turned suddenly to face the man with a scowl. "You said you'd let him go," he growled.

"Did I?" the man laughed. He was getting cocky. "Perhaps I should have said that I wouldn't kill him. If anyone kills him, it will be your own government. I don't care about the rest of the men that I've recruited up to this point. They can all be replaced. By I need the doctor for my army. So I won't be letting him go and you'll still help me to escape because I can still hurt him."

"I won't let you lay another finger on him," Sherlock growled as he examined the man's hold to try to find any weaknesses that he could exploit. He couldn't find anything. "Give him back to me right now."

"You don't get to make the demands," the man smirked. "I'm holding all the cards right now."

Sherlock continued to look for something that he could do, but he found nothing. The only person that could do something would be John. Sherlock had never attempted to bring John out of this bad of an attack of PTSD. He didn't really have a clue how to. On other occasions he found that embracing the man helped him to calm down in these situations, but he couldn't when the captor was holding on to him.

"John," he said in his most calming tone. "John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John. John." It wasn't working.

"Shut up," the man growled as he forced his gun harder into John's head. "Just move on or I'll shoot him."

"Fine," Sherlock growled. He really didn't have any other choice. He would not risk any harm coming to his flat mate.

They weren't walking for long when John made his first noise during this whole business. "Sherlock," he mumbled distantly.

"John," Sherlock answered, but he did not turn. He didn't need to. He knew that John was back from his bout of PTSD. The doctor never did stay in those long even when they were as bad as that one. Sometimes he just had to have time to get over it. Apparently that time was up. Good. It didn't seem like the captor knew. John was very good at acting. He made it seem like he was still deep in his PTSD but worried about Sherlock. All's Sherlock had to do now was create an opening.

"I told you to shut up," the captor growled.

"And I don't care," Sherlock turned with a smirk. "I told you I wouldn't let you lay another hand on John."

"I don't think that you get any say in the matter," the man said.

"Well," Sherlock said. "You said that John was indispensable. So you can't kill him. That means that you can't shoot him in the head. Your threat is nothing to me when I know all of the facts."

"Fine," the captor growled. "Then I'll just put my gun somewhere that's less vital. Maybe his shoulder." He moved the gun away from John's head to replace it somewhere else, but that was a mistake on his part.

As soon as the gun was far enough away from John that he could grad it, he made his move. He slammed his head backwards into the wound right shoulder as he used his left hand to grab the gun away from the man. The man, who had previously been a right-handed person couldn't hold onto the gun and, before anyone could blink, he was on the ground and John held a gun to his face.

"You're right," Sherlock smirked. "John would have been good for your army, but, as I said, he would never want to join you."

John didn't give the man a chance to answer. He used the pistol's butt to knock the guy out. "Don't ever do that again," John said as he turned to Sherlock.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock shrugged.

"Don't think I don't know that you were going to let this guy go in exchange for my life," John said.

"Don't be stupid John," Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. "I was just waiting for the opportune moment."

"Don't do it again," John repeated.

"If you're asking me not to save your life again," Sherlock began to say, but he was cut off by John.

"Don't do it again."

"Fine," Sherlock finally conceded. He would allow John to win in this conversation, but that didn't mean he wouldn't actually do it again. He knew it and John knew it, but neither was going to talk about that. They both did, however, make a resolve to take better care of John so that he would stop getting kidnapped and putting Sherlock into situations where he would have to do that.

Lestrade was not happy when the two of them made their way out of the building, but he decided to forgo lecturing them so that he could secure the suspect and release the rest of the prisoners. He would ask them about their statements later and both of them would go with the story that Sherlock was just buying time, but the Yard now knew better. They would never be able to forget the moment where Sherlock would have willingly let a serial killer escape just to save John's life. They would never again assume that Sherlock would willingly give up John's life just to solve a case.

* * *

Ok. I just want to mention that I don't actually know what any of the symptoms for PTSD. I was only taking a guess about it.

**(If you haven't seen a Scandal in Belgravia don't read this line) Also, I know that Sherlock didn't actually make the bomb go off, but this version fitted my story better.**


	5. trust issues

Before you read this chapter, I just want to say that I am in no way a psychologist and have taken a total of one psychology class. In other words, I could be wrong about what I wrote. I'm sorry if this happens.

Thank you for reading

* * *

After the war John was forced to go to see a therapist. Apparently, any man who is injured in combat, and even some that aren't, are forced to go to a therapist. Of course, John was one of the ones that got injured. They sent him to a therapist fearing that he would suffer from PTSD, which he obviously did given his constant nightmares about the war, but she had found much more out about him. Apparently he had a slight tremor in his hand caused by the fear in PTSD and a psychosomatic limp replacing the limp that he gained from shrapnel in his leg. The one thing that she picked up on the most, though, was that John Watson had trust issues. She assumed that these issues were brought on by the war. She immediately recommended that he start a blog. Apparently writing about himself would honestly help him in getting over all of the things that she had diagnosed him with because he refused to take pills.

The therapist was immediately fired when John moved into the flat with Sherlock for a few reasons. One was that he simply didn't have time to go and see her as often as he used to. The other was that Sherlock declared her to be incompetent. Honestly, Sherlock was the one who had fired her. John hadn't even thought about her until weeks later when he realized that he would have to reschedule several appointments only for Sherlock to stop him and say that her services were no long required. Besides, Sherlock had commented proudly, he was the only man that John trusted anyway. The rest of the Yard and Mycroft agreed with this assumption whole-heartedly. Even they could see that Sherlock was really the only person that he trusted.

Sherlock knew that the moment John was officially moving in he didn't need the stupid therapist anymore. The psychosomatic limp, one of the few things that she had been partially right about, was gone now so there was no point for John to see her about all the things that she had gotten wrong. His hand didn't shake from fear, it shook with an anticipation of an adventure. His limp wasn't from fearing the way, it was from a lack of excitement to get it going.

There was one assumption that even Sherlock got wrong, though. The trust issues. The ones that everyone assumed were brought on by the war. They were all wrong. Not about the trust issues, he definitely had trust issues, but not from the war. His trust issues were from a completely different source. Not even Sherlock, the man who he had given a little amount of his frail trust to, had gained John's complete and utter trust. John feared that no one ever would.

The conversation of trust issues came up again when John came home from a late night at work. He forgot to tell Sherlock that he would be working a little bit of overtime under Sara's request so, when he came home to find Sherlock writing in one of the many catalog's that he kept about him going on a date he couldn't help but to correct the man.

"I wasn't on a date," he muttered.

"What?" Sherlock's head shot up at him and then back at the notebook that laid neatly on his lap. His mouth began to form the words 'How did you know?', but instead he said, "I'm very proud of you John. You've deduced what I was thinking." Then he went back to write in his large journal about John's accomplishment and his first deducement.

"First of all," John sighed as he collapsed into his favorite chair in the living room without bothering to make the cuppa that he so desperately needed for this moment. "This isn't the first time I've deduced anything. I just haven't ever done it to your liking. And, second of all, I didn't actually deduce anything. I read what you wrote."

"John," Sherlock raised an eyebrow and leaned forward just slight, affectively covering up the words that he had been writing. "Did you read my writing upside down?"

John tensed angrily. He was trying to stop doing that. It was an invasion of privacy and he should know better, but he had never been able to get over the habit after he had gained it such a long time ago. "Sorry," he mumbled as he looked away.

"I thought you trusted me," Sherlock pouted dramatically, but John could tell that the dramatics were only a cover up for actual hurt. Leave it to Sherlock to disguise pain with an inflated version of it.

"I do," John shook his head quietly. "It's just that…" John stopped. He didn't want to talk about it. He was putting a lot of trust in Sherlock as it was and, if he allowed himself to trust Sherlock even more, to trust Sherlock with the secret of his past, he wouldn't be able to recover if Sherlock ever broke that trust. Sherlock had already broken his trust several times, like the time during the HOUND of Baskerville case, but he had been able to put himself back together despite the pain it had caused. He was used to it after all.

"It's just that what John?" Sherlock asked. He was able to deduce that John didn't want to talk about it, but he also knew that John really wanted to talk about it. John had brought up this particular line of conversation, rather unknowingly most of the time, several times lately. There was something that he wanted to say and Sherlock was stubborn enough to work it out of him and impatient enough to not want to wait any longer. He was going to get this out of John. Now.

"You don't get trust issues from the war," John said. It was a different line of conversation than what Sherlock had expected, but it was close enough to what really wanted to be said that Sherlock would allow it to be a good opening statement. "We're brothers in arms out there. When a guy falls, at least one man picks him up and, most of the time, another man stops to defend the two as they make their way into a safer area. You don't get trust issues in a war unless you're shot be friendly fire or you're just left behind."

"You were shot by friendly fire?" Sherlock asked. How had he not deduced that?

"No," John shook his head. "It was an enemy sniper."

"Then you were left behind?" Sherlock asked.

"No," John said. "A good mate of mine, his name's Bill Murray, actually carried me out of the battlefield." Sherlock knew about this. He had looked at John's records. Apparently a man named Bill Murray carried John back to camp where they thought they'd be safe only for the base to be attacked a few hours later. John had been given just enough time to have his wound properly taken care of before he had been captured.

Sherlock had to think for a moment. If John didn't get trust issues from being shot by friendly fire or from being left behind, then where did the trust issues come from? Did they come from his time as a prisoner of war? No, none of the Taliban would even attempt to break his trust. They had no reason to. What then? Oh. Oh! "You're trust issues are from before the war!" Sherlock realized suddenly. How had he not noticed it. Admittedly, the causes of actions were harder to deduce than the actions themselves, but this was John. He was supposed to know John.

John leaned his head back against his chair with his eyes closed. He didn't bother to answer. Sherlock would know. Sherlock always figured things like that out.

"Tell me about it," Sherlock demanded.

John opened his eyes tiredly and found this his flat mate was standing right in front of him with a stony look on his face. "I don't know Sherlock," John sighed and let his eyes close again.

"You don't know or you don't want me to know?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock," John said exasperatedly. It was the only thing that he said, but Sherlock got the message.

"You don't want me to know," he realized. "Why not?"

"Because…" John trailed off. He couldn't say this in any way that wouldn't completely hurt or insult his friend and he didn't want that.

"Because you don't trust me," Sherlock deduced.

"I trust you," John shook his head slowly. It was the truth. He trusted this man, but…

"But not completely," Sherlock finished his thought unknowingly.

John hesitated, but nodded anyway. He needed to get this off of his chest. He had been needing to get this off his chest for a very long time. He probably should have told his therapist about it, but he had never felt very comfortable telling a complete stranger about his personal life. Especially if there were just going to use that information to make assumptions about him. To diagnose him. To deduce him. Just like Sherlock would do if he got this information that John had been keeping inside himself for so long.

Sherlock dropped to his knees and put his hands on John's thighs. He had once used this gesture to get John's attention, but found that it actually comforted the man a lot. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was practically kneeling before John in a way that made him no threat to John's safety. Ever since he had used it to comfort John whenever John needed it. He felt this was one of those time.

"What can I do to make you trust me completely?" Sherlock asked in a whisper. Quiet voices also calmed John.

"I don't think I can," John mumbled and shook his head again.

"Won't you at least let me try?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't think I can," John repeated. "I don't think I can ever trust anyone completely."

"Why not?" Sherlock pressed.

"It's hard to trust people when they just keep breaking you," John breathed.

Sherlock frowned and thought back to previous cases where he had done just that. He remembered all of the experiments that he had performed on John without the man's knowledge only for the man to find out at a later time. He remembered the look that John always gave him. The look that showed an outward sort of anger, but hid a deep seated pain. He also remembered all of the promises that he had broken and the way John would simply say that he understood and then would go up to his room where he didn't think that Sherlock could hear him crying. He didn't cry all the time, but there had been special promises, promises that John had been very excited about, that when Sherlock broke them hurt him so much that he cried. The worst part was that the main reason that Sherlock broke the promises was because he completely forgot about them and then John would be left waiting at wherever they were meant to meet until hours later when he would finally give up and go home to find Sherlock whining about being bored on the couch or complaining about John not being there to help him with some sort of menial task.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock frowned. He hadn't meant to hurt John. He never meant to hurt John. He was just an idiot in these matters. He didn't know that he was hurting John. He felt horrible. He would make it up to the man. He would never break another one of his promises and he would never perform another experiment on John unless John gave his express permission. He was determined to gain John's full trust. He needed it. Not for himself, but for John. John needed to find someone that he could trust because he could see that this reluctance to trust anyone was actually tearing the man apart.

John tensed slightly at the words, Sherlock had never full on apologized before, but Sherlock squeezed his thighs lightly and he calmed down once more. "It's not just you," he muttered. He didn't even bother to attempt to deny the fact that Sherlock had been hurting him. After all, there was no better way to get people to stop hurting you unintentionally then to let them know that they were doing it.

"Who else then?" Sherlock asked. Who else could have possibly hurt John until the point that he felt that he could never trust anyone fully again?

"Harry did start drinking because she was unhappy," John said randomly. Sherlock didn't interrupt. If this had nothing to do with their conversation, John would have never brought it up. The only thing that John ever said that was random in a conversation was asking people if they wanted a cuppa. Besides, he did _not _want to miss this information by interrupting. "She was unhappy because of her drinking, but she didn't start drinking because she was unhappy. She started because-" he stopped for a moment to swallow a deep knot that was forming in his throat. He never opened his eyes. If he opened his eyes, he didn't know how much of this he would actually be able to get through. "My dad was a drunk. He was always drunk. Sometimes I think I can remember him being sober one time a long time ago. Sometimes I think I can remember him holding me in his arms and smiling down at me like in the pictures that used to be around the house of him before I was born. Sometimes I think I can remember, but I know that can't be. My dad started drinking on the day I was born because my mom I died that day. She died giving birth to me. They didn't tell me that she died. They just let me believe that my step-mom was my real mom. She beat me. Everyday. I thought she was my mother, but she didn't like me. She liked Harry, but she didn't like me. My dad was always drunk so he didn't know that she beat me. He just kind of ignored me all the time. Even when I went to tell him that she beat me. Harry stayed away from me most of the time when we were little. She picked up on my step-mom's animosity towards me and continued it. Even when we went to school. She always made fun of me and she encouraged the other kids to do so too. She was supposed to be my older sister and take care of me, but she just kept pointing and laughing. I decided that I couldn't trust my family then, but surely I could trust my friends."

Sherlock didn't like where this was going. John was smiling sadly and Sherlock could see the beginnings of tears forming in the man's eyes. He wanted to stop this now. He didn't want John to cry. He wanted to stop this now so that he could go back to seeing a tired John sit at his chair trying to gain the strength to get up and make a nice cuppa for the two of them like he would have done on any other day. But he knew better. John needed to get through this. They both needed to get through this.

"I didn't have friends," John stated matter-of-factedly. "They were just people that wanted to use me. They constantly put me down everyday. They usually stole my homework and pretended it was theirs. So much so that I started doing my homework twice so that I wouldn't keep getting zeroes. They used me as their pack mule saying that they'd let me hold onto their things for them. I had no idea what was really going on. Not until way later on, but it was already too late for me." John frowned then. "You told me when we met that I didn't get on with my sister possibly because I didn't like that she had broken it off with her wife, but more likely because she had a drinking problem. I didn't tell you then that the reason I don't get on with my sister is because of our childhood. She's try to make amends, but I can't trust her to do that when she keeps following in dad's footsteps. She's a mean drunk you know. Not in a violent way, but her words always hurt when she's drunk. She doesn't know this, but I actually encouraged Clara to leave her. Clara was such a nice woman and Harry was just being so mean to her and I just couldn't stand it anymore. I didn't want Clara to turn out like I did."

"I think you're wrong John," Sherlock said when John was finally finished. "You turned out just fine."

"Oh yea," John laughed humorlessly. "I'm a wounded army doctor who has PTSD and can't trust a single person I come by."

"I don't think that's the case though," Sherlock continued. "I don't think you have trust issues."

Now John finally opened his eyes to look down at Sherlock in confusion. _Everyone _knew that John had trust issues. Why was Sherlock changing his opinion now?

"I think that you trust people too much," Sherlock continued. "You trust every man that you meet to be a good person. That's why it hurts you so much when they turn out to be a bad person. You assume that everyone is good. You trust people too much. You just don't trust yourself to understand that feeling." Sherlock would admit that he wasn't actually the person to be talking about things like this. He wasn't very good with emotions after all. But he had to say these things. He had to say them because he believed them wholeheartedly and John needed to believe them too. "I told you not to make people into heroes, but you do it all the time. You make everyone into a good person. Even criminals are somehow good in your eyes. Just understand that this is trust. You have trust. I'm not the only person that you trust, but I am the person that you trust the most and that is good enough for me."

Now John was crying. He wasn't sobbing, but their were tears falling down his cheeks as he watched Sherlock explain everything to him. He had never thought of it that way. He had always just felt anger towards himself for not being able to trust anyone and now Sherlock was telling him that the truth was that he trusted everyone but himself.

* * *

I swear these chapters are getting longer and longer each time. Oh well it doesn't really matter.

There is a grand total of 1 chapter left after this one and I will definitely try to get it up as soon as I can.


	6. in love

Before you read this chapter, I want to mention that I am not a doctor and know absolutely nothing about gun shot wounds and infections. I will try my best through.

* * *

The moment that Doctor John Watson stepped onto his first ever crime scene with Sherlock Holmes, he got weird looks from all of the people in the Yard. No one said anything, except for Sally's rude remarks about it, but they were all thinking the same thing: Sherlock Holmes had actually brought a date to a crime scene. Of course it made sense in their minds. Sherlock was the type of person that would totally take someone to a crime scene for a date. That way Sherlock would be able to show off his cleverness to said date in his own natural habitat. And the fact that he allowed John to actually touch the body when it was in his hands, even fought Lestrade to allow it to happen, was even more of a sign to them.

Then the two of them went to their first stake out together at Angelo's restaurant. He called them a couple outright and, even though John denied dating Sherlock, deigned to bring them a nice romantic candle. Of course, that's when John brought up the whole dating thing. He, as nonchalantly as he could manage, actually asked Sherlock if he would like to date him. When Sherlock immediately turned it around and said that he was married to his work, John quickly lied and said that he just wanted to let Sherlock know that it was all fine. It was all fine. Except that John had actually wanted a bit more. At the time, he was actually afraid that Sherlock would be able to tell that he was lying, but, it seemed, that John was actually really good at telling half-truths and making them sound completely true.

After that, pretty much everyone they met continued to assume that they were dating or at least pining after each other. Anyone who didn't know Sherlock, and spent enough time with them to come up with the assumption, would gush about how cute of a couple they are. Anyone who did know Sherlock would raise a brow and casually ask John why he was with Sherlock. John always answered as though they asked why they were sharing a flat, but he could tell that wasn't what they were actually asking. Sherlock just either ignored them or didn't understand what the question was implying.

Even Irene Adler quickly came to the conclusion that they were dating even though Sherlock showed a lot of interest in her. John was actually very jealous about this, but he remained silent because he wanted Sherlock to be happy. Right now he was content with just staying in the same flat as the great Sherlock Holmes. He even tried to tell Irene that the two of them weren't dating by stating that he wasn't actually gay, but she immediately answered with a smirk and a "Yes you are." He couldn't say anything more to that because she was right and he wasn't very good at completely lying.

At the time all of them had been wrong about the two of them dating, but they were all right about the two of them having feelings for each other. Sherlock was much better at hiding said feelings and was too oblivious to notice John's obvious feelings for him, but the feelings existed all the same. That was proven late one night when the two of them were running after a killer. He was supposed to be an easy catch, but it all went downhill rather quickly.

John had his gun out, he always had his gun out during a chase, but he didn't have enough time to lift, aim, and fire the thing when he realized that the man that they were chasing was pointing a gun of his own at Sherlock. He could not, would not, allow anyone to hurt Sherlock so when the gun went off, it hit John instead of Sherlock. John cried out as the pain pierced through his left shoulder and he fell to the ground. The wound, he realized, would leave another ugly scar to go with his first one. That is, if he survived. Because his shoulder was injured, though, John wasn't able to lift his left hand high enough to shoot at the killer so he transferred to his other hand. He wasn't as good with his right hand, but he had learned to shoot using both for a situation like this. The shot was quick and the man was down, but none of it was over.

Sherlock fell to his knees beside John and, after direction from John, put as much pressure on the wound as he could. His arms were tense and he felt like it was his own heart that was in danger of dying. Not that that was an incorrect thought. John was his heart, just like Moriarty had said. "John," he called out to John's fading consciousness. "Stay with me John. The ambulance will be here soon and you'll be okay. I promise."

"Sherlock," John answered blearily. He was having a hard time differentiating between the present where he got shot in an alleyway with Sherlock by his side and the past where he got shot in Afghanistan with Bill Murray by his side. He could see someone coming up behind Sherlock, but he couldn't remember if that happened in Afghanistan or if he was seeing it happen now. Everything was just confusing. "Behind you," he finally worked out. Either way, he would be telling whoever was by his side that their was someone, friend or foe, approaching them.

His warning came too late and Sherlock was unable to turn in time to catch the pipe that was slammed against his skull to knock him unconscious. John followed close behind because of blood loss.

When Sherlock awoke he found himself in a small room with John still unconscious at his side. There were no windows in the room and it looked to be made out of complete cement, but there was one single, thick metal door on the other side of the room. Sherlock debated whether or not he should see what's on the other side of the door or he should stay and try to wake up John. His choice, of course, was to stay by John's side, but he was also surprised to find the door was actually opening. He did not like what he saw on the other side.

"Hi!" the man on the other side of the door said. His body was covered in scars from severe burns, but Sherlock would recognize that man anywhere. "Jim Moriarty?" he continued tauntingly, "but I thought you were dead. Well you were wrong. I'm still here. You can't kill me."

Sherlock pulled John closer to himself and did his best to curl around the man defensively without allowing Moriarty to see it. Of course, Moriarty did see it, but he didn't comment.

"Well Sherlock," he said with his condescending smirk. "You have been a very bad boy and you've made daddy very angry. So I've decided to put you in time out. I'll let you keep you're pet with you. At least for the time being. Don't you worry, I'll take good care of you and you'll be out of here in no time as long as you behave yourself."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked cautiously. There was no way that Moriarty took them just to keep them lock up for a little while and then let them go.

"Oh I already got what I wanted Sherlock." Moriarty nodded towards John and Sherlock finally took the time to examine him. It looked like his wound had been treated and the blood had stopped, but there was a sweat starting to form on his brow.

"What did you do to him?" Sherlock demanded.

"Oh we took good care of him," Moriarty said in mock sincerity. "But you know there's only so much we can do when we don't have any good medical facilities. He could get an infection." With that Moriarty laughed and closed the door behind him.

"John!" Sherlock called out frantically when he felt that Moriarty was gone for long enough that he wouldn't be coming back any time soon. "John wake up."

"Sherlock?" John moaned quietly. "What's going on?" Even with his mind a wreck of pain and sickness, he could always tell when there was something wrong by the tone of Sherlock's voice.

"We've been capture John," Sherlock tried to sound calm, but his voice shook.

"Who?" John asked. He was still trying to regain full consciousness so he couldn't manage much more than that.

"Moriarty," Sherlock said.

John gasped and he shot up to a sitting position before Sherlock could stop him. Then he was standing and he reached behind himself for his gun only to find that it wasn't actually there. "Damn it," he cursed. "He's supposed to be dead."

"John," Sherlock hovered cautiously around John even as the man seethed in anger. "You're hurt."

"Huh?" John asked before a light twinge from his shoulder reminded him of being shot. "Oh that," he said nonchalantly. "Adrenaline's kicked in. I can barely feel it. It's going to hurt a hell of a lot later though. What happened?"

"We were captured," Sherlock said. He normally would have complained about having to repeat himself, but right now he wanted nothing more than to make sure that John was okay. His answers were practically just coming subconsciously to John's command. John had a way of doing that to him even if John didn't know about it.

"I got that much Sherlock," John stated. "What else?"

"Moriarty said that he had his men fix your shoulder," Sherlock continued. "I think they may have infected you."

"That's a bit not good," John frowned. He was a medical man and he knew that infections were never good. He didn't feel all that afraid of it though. He was able to survive the last infection that he got when he was captured in the war. He had been lucky then, but at least now he would be more immune to getting another one than anyone expected. It was never put into his record. In fact, John was pretty sure that the military had no knowledge of it at all. He would probably be able to survive this one too. Hopefully.

Sherlock didn't know that he survived the first infection, though. In fact, Sherlock didn't even know that there was an infection. So he was much more frightened then John was at the moment. "A bit not good," Sherlock snarled angrily. "Try a lot not good. This must be what Moriarty wants. He wants me to see you suffer. I won't let that happen. I can't."

"Sherlock calm down," John sighed. The last thing he needed was for the only person who had any chance of getting the two of them out of there to be freaking out and the man was so jittery beside him that he knew Sherlock would be pacing if he wasn't too busy making sure he didn't collapse.

"I can't be calm John," Sherlock scowled. "You're going to get an infection."

"Stop," John said finally. He would have complained about the fact that Sherlock was finally deciding to be sentimental when they really needed him to be his cold self, but he knew that would be more than a bit not good. Besides, he knew for a fact that Sherlock was way more sentimental than he seemed and it would be unfair of John to say otherwise. And, if Moriarty was listening, it wouldn't be the best idea to point it out anyway. "Stop it. You need to calm down. We need to find a way out of here and I'm no good at the whole observing thing."

Sherlock's body froze. John was right. If he wanted to save John, he needed to find a way to get the two of them out of there. There was no way that he could trust Moriarty's word to let them out if they were good so his only choice was to find a way himself. He would find a way out of that room, he promised himself, and find a way to save John.

He couldn't, though. Sherlock tried everything he could think of to get the two of them out of there. He tried damaging the concrete, that didn't even leave a mark, forcing the door open, that didn't even budge, and he even tried picking the lock, but he didn't have the right tools so it didn't work. He even tried tricking the guards outside their door, he wasn't even sure if their were guards or if they could hear him at all, but he would try anyway, but he received no response. And, throughout this whole time, John was steadily getting worse. John was running a high fever and his PTSD was working with said fever to create horrible hallucinations that he was forced to live through over and over again. Sherlock gave him most of the food that they were given and most of the water, but, lately, it all seemed to be coming back up the same way it went down.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to realize exactly what Moriarty wanted. He was burning the heart out of Sherlock by simply making him watch his best friend and the man that he loved slowly succumb to pain and death. It was the worst kind of torture. A kind of torture that he never even though was real, but now he knew it was. Now he was suffering from it and he was slowly realizing that there was truly nothing that he could do to stop it.

"Hey John," Sherlock whispered at John's side after several days of them being locked together in the room, "how are you feeling."

"I'm fine Sherlock," John tried to reassure Sherlock just like he did every time he asked, but Sherlock never bought it. He could see the facts right in front of him and he could tell that John was definitely not alright.

"They're probably going to bring some food soon," Sherlock continued like he always did when they had this conversation. "Will you eat it?"

"Only if you do too," John responded just like he always did.

"Deal," Sherlock smiled painfully right as he heard the slot open that always signaled the arrival of food. "See John. There it is now." But when he turned there was no food. There was only a phone that immediately started ringing when Sherlock looked at it.

"Put it on speaker," John said as Sherlock went to grab it. Sherlock did as he was told and Moriarty's voice joined them in the room.

"Hello Sherly," Moriarty said. "Are you liking your punishment?"

"Is it over now?" Sherlock asked with his hand holding the phone so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "You said that you would let us go when our punishment was over."

"Now now Sherlock," Moriarty laughed. "I also said that you had to be a good boy. You have to do something for me before I let you go."

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock asked. He didn't want to admit it, but he would do anything to get the two of them out of there. Anything to get John out of there.

"How's your pet doing?" Moriarty asked.

"He's fine," Sherlock growled. He looked over at John to reaffirm that the man was still there and was still fine, but he was surprised to find the man actually standing next to him. John hadn't really had strength enough to stand in at least a day or two.

"Is he really?" Sherlock could hear the condescending tone, but he chose to ignore it. He was going to be a 'good boy' for John's sake.

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock practically yelled into the phone.

"Easy Sherly," Moriarty said. "You don't want to make daddy even angrier at you. I could always just leave you in there for the rest of your lives."

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said immediately.

"That's better," Moriarty answered. "Now, you're going to get a present. If you can be a good little boy and do what daddy wants, then I'll let you go."

With that said, the slot opened and another object was passed through it. John picked it up and showed it to Sherlock. "A gun?" Sherlock asked.

"That's right Sherly," Moriarty said happily. "Now, if you want to save you're little pet, you're going to have to decide."

"Decided what?" Sherlock asked.

"Would you rather let John live even though he's got little chance of survival at this point of his infection," Moriarty said, "or would you rather allow him to pass on and be done with the pain. It's you're choice Sherly. It's you or him. Take your pick. I'll speak to you soon."

Sherlock tried to phone someone else, but it seemed that the phone was made to only be able to connect to Moriarty's phone. So it was actually rather useless to them.

"He's pretty sure that you're going to choose to shoot me," John pointed out once the phone cut out.

"That would be the logical decision," Sherlock answered.

"Well it's a good thing that you don't get to make that decision then," John smiled.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm the one with the gun," John pointed out. "I'm the one who gets to decide."

"Give me the gun John," Sherlock moved forward suddenly to try to take the gun from him, but John was too fast. He simply moved to a corner and placed the gun behind him.

"No Sherlock," he shook his head. "I have the gun so I get to decide what happens with it and I decide that neither of us are going to die."

"But you still have a chance if you make it to an A&E soon," Sherlock tried to reason with him. "I can get you out of here."

"You're going to have to find another way," John answered quickly. "Because you aren't getting this gun from me." He was well aware that this wasn't going along with Moriarty's plans, but that was the point. John never seemed to follow the plan. In fact, that was the whole reason they had been able to catch Moriarty off guard in the first place. Sherlock never would have thought to blow up the semtex vest if John hadn't actually gestured for him to do it. Nobody else knew, but John's nod had meant more than it was okay for Sherlock to shoot it. John was actually telling Sherlock what to do with his nod towards the vest. It was so subtle that Moriarty hadn't even seen it, but Sherlock did and that was how they were able to catch Moriarty off guard. John was the extra player in the game that Moriarty didn't even know was tilting the game in the favor of Sherlock.

"Please John," Sherlock begged. "I don't want you to die."

"And you think that I do?" John frowned and gave Sherlock one of his stubborn glares. "Neither of us are going to die."

"Please John," Sherlock tried again. "If you don't get help soon, you won't last much longer. Just let me-"

"No," John cut him off. "It's my decision and I have chosen that neither of us are going to die."

"Please John." Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled him against his chest. He would have taken the gun then if he could, but John's hold was too strong. "Please. I can't watch you die. It's killing me. I can't do it anymore. Please."

"I won't die Sherlock," John wrapped his free hand around and held him as hard as his fading strength would allow.

"I can't watch you die John," Sherlock continued anyway. "I love you."

John felt tears coming to his eyes then. He could already feel Sherlock's tears falling onto his collarbone where his face was buried, but now he felt his own tears sliding down his face. Life really was cruel. Allowing them to have what they both wanted in a moment when they probably wouldn't survive. "I love you too," he whispered back.

Suddenly the phone rang again and Sherlock took a moment to compose himself before he put it back on speaker. He pulled John into his lap and pressed his face against his heartbeat in an attempt to make him feel better and to keep him safe.

"Make your decision Sherly," Moriarty growled over the phone.

"We've decided that neither of us are going to die," Sherlock said confidently, but he didn't feel the confidence. John felt it though, and that was enough for him. For now at least.

"Make your decision now or I will make it for you," Moriarty growled. "It's either you or him. Make your decision."

"No," Sherlock growled before throwing the phone across the room where it shattered into several small pieces.

The explosion of the phone seemed to be the started of a whole flurry of motion. The large metal door swung open and men came pooring into the room with guns trained on the two of them.

"Make your choice Sherly," Moriarty scowled at Sherlock's back as he walked into the room. This was not going as he planned, he had hoped to make Sherlock kill John and then Sherlock would be forced to join him, but something went wrong. He was going to have his way though. He wanted Sherlock to join him and he always got what he wanted. He was ruthless and would do anything to get his prize. Now he was going to take Sherlock by going through the only thing that seemed to keep standing in his way. Doctor John Watson. The only problem was that John was almost completely hidden by Sherlock's frame and they were up against a corner so there was no way for his men to get around to a better angle to shoot.

"No," Sherlock repeated.

"I'll make it," John said before Moriarty could reply.

"What?" Sherlock gasped as John shifted his position just slightly. "John don't."

But what Sherlock thought was going to happen didn't. John actually surprised the whole room with his action. He actually shifted just enough that he could see over Sherlock's shoulder, put his sights on one Jim Moriarty, and, in one quick motion, pulled the gun over Sherlock's shoulder and shot. The bullet went through Moriarty's head. He was a crack shot after all.

Everything stood frozen for seconds as the people in the room all realized that Jim Moriarty was now dead. John, being the one who actually made the shot, was the first to recover and he pulled Sherlock up and away from his line of sight so that he could shoot the other men. There were three others, but he chose not to use a kill shot on any of them so they crumpled to the ground and John pulled Sherlock out of the room before they could shoot them.

"I told you," John laughed as they ran through long hallways. "I told you neither of us were going to die."

"You're brilliant John," Sherlock laughed when everything finally caught up to his mind. "Absolutely brilliant. I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you too Sherlock," John smiled as they finally made it outside of the building, but that was the end of that. John finally collapsed in Sherlock's arms and Sherlock couldn't get him to wake up.

Sherlock picked John, who was surprisingly light for being so muscular, and made his way as fast as he could to a road where he would be able to find a cab. Then, from there, he when to St. Bart's to get John treated. Hopefully they would be okay. Hopefully the infection didn't spread to the rest of his body.

While in the hospital, after a surgery to remove the bullet that Moriarty had apparently neglected to remove, John had to be placed und a strict regimen of severe antibiotics and the doctors thought it would be best for him to sleep through the whole thing so they kept him in a medical coma. Sherlock was not at all happy about this because he wanted to talk to his John and make sure that his John was okay, but he didn't complain because he knew that his John was actually better off this way. Instead he chose to stay by his John's side at all times, with a little help from his brother, and spoke to him. The doctors had reassured him that there was a possibility that John would be able to hear him so he talked. A lot. He talked about the deductions that he made about the staff. He talked about the people who kept coming to visit and annoying him with their presence. He even talked about how their future would look like together. He talked a lot, but the thing that he said most was that he loved John Watson. He said these words with and without guests in the room. He didn't care if they heard. In fact, he'd rather they heard so that they would stop trying to take John away from him.

The one thing that he didn't talk about was Moriarty. John knew that Moriarty was dead and that was good enough for him. He didn't want John to have nightmares about the man like he did after the pool. Especially when there was no way for Sherlock to wake him up if it did happen.

When John did finally wake up, Sherlock immediately asked him on a date. John agreed of course, but he made sure that the date would take place after he had rested for a bit longer. He wanted to be his best for his first date with the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. To this, Sherlock replied that he would allow this only if he was allowed to sleep with John while he rested. John agreed and the decision was made. They would both live. Together.

Out of all the assumptions that everyone seemed to make about Sherlock and John, the assumption that the two of them were in love with each other seemed to be the only one that they all got right. It may have taken the two of them a lot longer than it took everyone else to realize it, but they did love each other. And now they're dating while still living their crazy lives without a crazy psychopath of a consulting criminal stalking them. And, most importantly, they're happy.

* * *

Phew! That was a long chapter. I think it's the longest chapter that I've ever written. Oh well.

This is the end guys. I hope you liked it. Thanks again for reading. If you'd like me to write any other stories with these two characters, give me any requests you've got and I'll do my best.


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